


Tomorrow

by Utu



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Incest, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26918137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Utu/pseuds/Utu
Summary: Always the flamboyant tomorrow, and never did Klaus admit that he really couldn’t do it. And it wasn’t like anyone blamed him. At least Diego didn’t; he understood. He hated it, and he despised the situation and the long, restless nights of not knowing where his brother was.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Written & dedicated to my wonderful partner.
> 
> I hope y'all will enjoy this pairing as much as I do!

With Klaus, it was always tomorrow. Never now, later, soon, in a minute, today. Always tomorrow. Tomorrow he'll be good, tomorrow he'll get sober, tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. It drove Diego nuts, and against all common sense, he’d begun to hate the word. Every night he hoped that tomorrow would never come, because if it didn’t, then there would be hope. But tomorrow always did come and darkened every glimmer of hope Diego had. Always the flamboyant tomorrow, and never did Klaus admit that he really couldn’t do it. And it wasn’t like anyone blamed him. At least Diego didn’t; he understood. He hated it, and he despised the situation and the long, restless nights of not knowing where his brother was.

“Aren’t you getting sick of this?”

“Sick of what?”

Diego groaned, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “This,” he said, and poked his adoptive brother with his boot. Klaus lifted his head, still leaning against the toilet. His hair was stuck to his forehead, his skin clammy and ashen. The shadows underneath his eyes were deeper than they usually were.

“No. I quite like it.” There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in his voice, and Diego just scoffed at him, his stare flat like it usually was. He felt like kicking Klaus again, and his leg jerked. But in the end, he decided against it; there was no point in kicking a man who was already down. Were it anyone else, he would've kicked their ass for being so fucking stupid. But not Klaus. No, never Klaus.

“Let me guess. Tomorrow you’ll get sober," Diego said, the venom in his voice bleeding through.

“Well I can’t do it today, now can I? I need to rest.”

Rest was a code word for a fix, and they both knew it.

And Diego also knew he shouldn’t say it, but he still said it, “There are some of your pills left. I didn't throw them out.” He whisked around and left his brother to hug the toilet.  _ I'm not an enabler, _ he told himself.

The boiler clunked as Diego threw himself on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was running on fumes, but he couldn’t just close his eyes and sleep, not with Klaus retching his guts out. They were both dead behind their eyes, broken and lost, but only Klaus was brave, or stupid enough to admit it and do something about it. Diego knew he had no obligation to help him. For fuck’s sake, they weren’t even really brothers. Just two lost souls, who had been thrown into the world on the same day in similar circumstances. And the man they called their father, was just a ringmaster, and his so-called children were but caged animals.

Diego would never admit it out loud, but he envied his brother to a certain degree. Klaus was free, in a way, of the shackles Diego still dragged around with him. Of course, sawing off those shackles meant also sawing off parts of oneself. And Diego wasn't just ready to do anything so drastic.

Anything could’ve happened, but somewhere during those long, painful nights, they had found each other. Or maybe it was more of Diego’s way of keeping his brother out of harm's way — if Diego was there to warm his bed, and to keep him company, no one else could hurt him. Despite the charade Klaus put on, he was fragile, not strong, like he often pretended to be. He’d been playing strong and invincible for so long, that he’d begun to believe all the lies he kept spewing at his own reflection.

Klaus staggered out of the bathroom, an unlit cigarette parked between his lips, and he doffed off his coat. He stared at Diego, and he wanted to say something smart, but fuck if he knew what was smart and what wasn’t. It was raining, and the waterdrops bombarded the small windows, accompanied by the rumbling of thunder.

“Wanna get a drink?”

“Nah,” Diego replied.

“I said a drink, not a fuck.”

Silence.

“So… Is that a no?”

“I already gave you an answer.”

“Wanna fuck then?” Klaus asked and lit his cigarette. The smoke drifted sluggishly upwards in the still air, swirling and dancing as he emptied his lungs.

“Nah.” Diego's answer took longer than Klaus had anticipated, and he knew that particular  _ nah _ better than anyone else. That  _ nah _ was a yes, not a no. His head was buzzing, as he made his way to his brother, and sat on the edge of the bed. He placed his free hand on Diego’s stomach, not yet slipping it under his shirt, no matter how much he wanted to. Diego sighed. But he didn’t say anything, which was a good sign. Klaus bounced his leg, flicking ash on the floor.

“I gotta clean that,” Diego reminded him.

“I know.”

“Tomorrow, then? You’ll start anew?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

Why they had to do that little, stupid dance every fucking time was beyond Diego. But he sat up and nabbed the cigarette from his brother’s hand. He smirked as he flung it on the floor. They stared at each other in silence, the occasional flash of lightning filling the boiler room with a blinding light. It made Klaus’s eyes sting and his head hurt; so much so, that it felt like his brain was being split in two. He said nothing about it, merely sniffled and wiped his nose.

Talking was never their thing.

So, like always, Klaus stood up, removed the rest of his clothes, and waited for Diego to do the same. No flashy stripping, no suggestive dancing, no joking, no double innuendoes — something Klaus usually did with the people he slept with. But he and Diego were just two lonely people clinging to each other, hoping that the next day would be easier, that it would wipe away the fears and the insecurities. So there was no point in theatrics. No point in pretending.

“How come we always managed to sneak around?”

Diego raised a brow, just as he hiked his boxers down. “Because in our little group some asshole has the nerve to call a family… Well, no one gave a shit, gives a shit, or will never give any sort of shit about others.”

Klaus swallowed. It was kind of true, but he just shrugged his shoulders, his head slightly tilted as he watched Diego remove the last, useless piece of fabric. It was always Diego who took the first step of their twisted, little waltz — he grabbed his brother’s hand, and with one swift motion threw him on the bed. And like always, Klaus spread his legs to accommodate Diego's body, his fingers desperately digging into his shoulders and pulling him closer. When they kissed, there were no fireworks, no angel choirs. It was just a wet kiss. Diego nearly recoiled, because of the nasty taste of bile and cigarettes.

“Here,” he muttered instead and pulled a small plastic bag from under his pillow.

“Yes, yes, yes, thank you,” Klaus replied enthusiastically and tore the bag from his brother’s hand. Diego averted his eyes, as he popped the pills into his mouth. He wasn’t enabling, right? He was just protecting his brother. Making sure he didn't fall into the wrong crowd again. It hurt Diego to know that he was just delaying the inevitable; Klaus would run out of drugs, and he’d have to go out to get more. And it could be days, or weeks before Diego would see him again.

During their lifetime, Diego had seen pieces of his brother chipping off, spread all over the floor, the dirt, the grass. Year after year, he cleaned up after Klaus, making sure he was okay, making sure he was still breathing. He couldn’t remember how many nights he’d spent watching over him, holding his hand in the darkness.

“You busy thinking about someone else?” Klaus asked teasingly. Diego rolled his eyes and leaned closer to kiss him again — just so he would shut the fuck up. And so that he wouldn’t see how the words stung. To him, rules were but a social construct, but he still felt guilty, weird, and dirty whenever he kissed Klaus. They weren’t related by blood, so they weren’t real brothers, but Klaus was, and would always be, his brother. It was a fact that neither of them could escape. But it only seemed to bother Diego.

“Like I’d be that much of a dick,” Diego muttered against his brother’s lips.

“Speaking of dicks…” Klaus whispered. What he really needed was sleep, but fucking was far more entertaining. Especially when it was with Diego — they were on the same wavelength, so in tune with each other, that words themselves became obsolete. “Can we get on with it?”

“Shut up.”

Yes, talking was never their thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have a minute, maybe drop a kudos or a comment? They're always highly appreciated.


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